


ASHES : Tribute/sequel to Unbloomed's Dead Pheonix (Phoenix) story

by chrmisha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 02:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrmisha/pseuds/chrmisha
Summary: This is a tribute to, and an unauthorized sequel to, Unbloomed’s “Dead Pheonix” (please note the intentional misspelling of ‘pheonix’). I found her work incredibly gut-wrenching and heartbreaking, and like many reviewers, wanted to know what happened next. Here is my take.





	ASHES : Tribute/sequel to Unbloomed's Dead Pheonix (Phoenix) story

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The original story by Unbloomed is a dom/sub relationship gone horribly wrong. Although it is in second-person, which might seem a bit odd, it is amazingly well done. Here is the link on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10020113
> 
> A/N 2: I found this story when I did a search of “PWP” and “Hurt/Comfort”. Well, there’s A LOT of hurt, and NO comfort, but I thought it was brilliantly done and it stuck with me, perhaps for how disturbing/shocking/sad it was. The original story may be a hard or triggering read, so beware of the warnings. My sequel is about the aftermath, not the actual act, so less warnings here.
> 
> A/N 3: Here’s a comment on the original story by isisanubis which I feel is quite relevant: “It's hard to push yourself through something, trying to reach the end—to make it—only to realize you shouldn't have. That what you had to go through was just too much for you.”
> 
> A/N 4: My sequel begins with two out-of-order sentences from Dead Pheonix by Unbloomed (in italics)

 

_“His voice keeps you connected to your body when all you want is to drift away into your mind, yet he, himself, is deaf to your screams, your howls of pain as he further destroys your body, your trust, and your love. You finally look at Severus Snape and whisper “Dead Phoenix” before gingerly disentangling yourself and leaving the room and a man you used to trust enough to call Master.”_

Numb with shock, Harry dressed silently, removed his tokens, and slipped from Severus’s quarters. Devastation clung to him like a second skin as he forced his feet forward, his mind reeling. How could this have happened? How could he have _let_ it happen? He trusted Severus to keep him safe. And Severus had trusted him to use his safe word if things became too much for Harry. Yet Severus hadn’t kept him safe, and Harry hadn’t used his safe word—not until it was over, not until it was too late.

Harry bit back a sob as he walked toward the tall twin doors. Had he been less destroyed by what had happened, he would have been mortified by what he was about to do. But he was too shattered to care. Once inside, he tapped the magical bell to signal he needed care. Then he disrobed and slid into a hospital gown, closed his eyes, and waited.

“Professor Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said in surprise. “What brings you here so late this…” As her eyes took in the fact that Harry had already changed into a hospital gown, she asked, “What has happened?”

“I need your assistance,” Harry said. “No questions, please,” he added.

Poppy pursed her lips.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I need you take a look at my bum. I’m, er, bleeding.” Harry made his way to the nearest bed, lying down on his side and facing away from the mediwitch. He curled into a ball and raised his top leg to his chest, giving her easier access. Then he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable gasp of shock.

“Mr. Potter! You’ve been attacked! Who…”

Harry gritted his teeth. “No questions, Poppy. Just fix me up. Please?”

His imploring tone must have done the trick. Poppy said no more, but Harry could feel the tension in the room. Her touch was gentle, her spells efficient. Yet he could imagine the look of anger and indignation on her face. He could visualize the way she clenched her jaw, the way her eyes sparked in outrage at his mistreatment.

Slowly, his pain eased and he let out his breath. Relief had never felt so bittersweet.

“I am finished,” Poppy said, her tone brusque.

“Thank you,” Harry said, rolling up into a sitting position.

Poppy put a hand on his shoulder and opened her mouth to speak.

Harry held up a hand and shook his head.

Clamping her jaw shut, Poppy thrust two potion vials into his hands. “Take these, then, and be gone with you.”

“Thank you, Poppy, truly.” Harry said. He downed the potions, dressed, and left the infirmary.

* * *

Severus was perturbed. Harry was acting like a petulant child. He hadn’t shown up for breakfast. In fact, few staff had been in attendance, which was unusual on this, the first day of the summer holidays. Even the headmistress had missed the morning meal, which was especially strange. He shrugged his shoulders, grateful for the respite from his overly chatty colleagues.

He spent the morning brewing potions to restock the infirmary. He had all summer to do it, but he preferred to get his required summer tasks done as soon as possible so that he could claim the remaining time for himself in whatever pursuits he so chose. This would be his first entire summer to spend with his pet—Harry—and he was looking forward to it. If, that is, Harry got over his bout of self-pity. Severus rolled his eyes and snickered. The young man could be such a drama queen sometimes. Still, he loved the brat and wouldn’t change a thing.

He was slightly surprised Harry hadn’t turned up at his quarters yet, begging his Master’s forgiveness for leaving so abruptly the night before. He knew Harry had been nervous, but Snape thought it had gone swimmingly well, right up until the time Harry realized who the third party had been. Snape had known Harry wouldn’t be thrilled it was Draco Malfoy, but after the fun they’d had, he’d expected Harry to perhaps be a little put out, but laugh it off in the end. He’d misjudged how sensitive the man could be at times, though. Shrugging, he gathered the box of potions and made his way to the infirmary. Potter would turn up sooner or later. Maybe he’d punish him for his insolence, Snape thought with a smirk.

“Oh there you are, Severus. I was just going to Floo call you.”

Snape raised an eyebrow.

Poppy rummaged through the box of potions Snape brought, finding what she was looking for. “Ran out last night, you see,” she was saying.

Snape scowled. “How could you run out? There aren’t any students remaining.”

Poppy looked at him sharply. “Professors end up injuring themselves as well, you know,” she said. “Now, if you could just put those away in storage cabinet,” she said, gesturing toward the main room as she returned to her ledger.

But Snape had stilled. “Which Professor?” he asked, his voice deadly soft.

“Hmm?” Poppy said, looking up from her notes. “Oh, Professor Potter was in late last night.”

“What was wrong with Potter?” Snape asked, his heart beginning to beat uncomfortably fast.

“Now, Severus,” Poppy said, setting down her quill. “You know I don’t disclose the ailments of the staff. If you’d just put those away…”

Covertly, Snape waved his wand, causing a window out in the main infirmary to shatter.

“Oh dear,” Poppy said, rushing around her desk. “I best see what that was about.”

The second she’d left her office, Snape spun her ledger around, reading quickly. Sure enough, there was Potter’s name. And a note. _Extensive anal tearing, profuse bleeding, internal bruising._ There followed a list of healing spells used and potions administered: a blood replenishing potion and a combo pain reliever–antibiotic potion. Snape returned the ledger to its place as he felt the blood drain from his face. How had Harry been injured that badly? He was always careful with his pet, _always_. Perhaps young Malfoy had not been as careful, but how hadn’t Severus noticed? It was his job to notice such things, to keep Harry safe.

A cold chill swept his body as sweat raced across his skin. On the rare occasion their play had gotten too rough, Harry had always came to his Master to be healed. That was part of their agreement. That Harry had sought out such care elsewhere… Snape forced himself to take a deep breath and swallow. Had he misjudged the evening’s events that badly? Had he been so caught up in his own fantasies that he’d failed in his duties as Master?

Brewed potions forgotten, he rushed from the mediwitch’s office. He had to find Harry.

“Severus?” Poppy called after his retreating form.

Snape waved a dismissive gesture toward her as he pushed through the double doors, heading for Gryffindor tower. He paced in front of Potter’s rooms. He’d knocked three times, but there’d been no answer. He didn’t want to burst in, not if he’d been the one to make a mess of things. If Potter was just pouting, that was one thing. But if he’d truly hurt the man… That thought was untenable.

With a flash of his wand, he summoned the time. Lunch was due to begin. Perhaps he’d merely missed the man. Surely Potter was at the lunch table with the rest of the staff. Relieved, he made his way to the Great Hall. The staff were all gathered, chatting quietly—all except for Harry and Minerva. Snape took his seat moments before Minerva bustled into the room.

“Headmistress,” Snape greeted.

Minerva looked to Severus, her features looking particularly careworn. “Oh, Severus, it’s you. Yes, well,” she said, taking her seat and then turning to face the table as a whole. “I’m afraid I have some unpleasant news to report. Professor Potter tendered his resignation this morning.”

Snape dropped his fork, hearing it clatter loudly against his plate. “He what?” Snape practically shouted into the stunned silence.

“Yes, it was quite the surprise,” Minerva said.

“But he loves teachin’,” Hagrid said in his gruff voice. “Why’d he quit?”

“He didn’t say,” Minerva responded. “He just…”

“Excuse me,” Snape said, getting to his feet, his lunch forgotten.

Few people noticed as most were peppering the headmistress with questions.

Snape shook his head as he made his way back to Harry’s quarters. This couldn’t be happening. It made no sense. Why would Potter quit?

This time when there was no answer to his pounding fists, Snape dismantled the wards and burst into the man’s quarters. “Potter, you idiot, if you…”

The words died in his throat as he took in his surroundings—the mantle unadorned with knick-knacks, the stone walls lacking Gryffindor banners, the coffee table with no half-empty mugs of tea or Quidditch magazines, the sofa without its red and gold knit throw, the wardrobe thrown open with only empty metal hangers inside, the bare mattress on the four-poster bed.

Snape stood, speechless, at the undeniable spectacle before him. Harry’s dead eyes and haunting words echoed in his mind: _Dead Phoenix, Dead Phoenix, Dead Phoenix._

* * *

Harry trudged up the sandy path to Shell Cottage. The sea breeze blew through his hair as salt beat against his skin. The door opened before he’d even had a chance to knock.

“Zis good to see you, ‘arry,” Fleur said, kissing him on both cheeks.

“You too, Fleur. Thanks for letting me come.”

“You are always welcome ‘ere,” Fleur said, gesturing him inside.

Bill held out a hand and Harry shook it. “Thanks, Bill,” Harry said.

“Anytime, Harry. You look beat. You remember where the guest room is?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Harry paused, feeling unsure of himself. “Would you mind if I got some rest? I didn’t sleep last night.”

“Of course, ‘arry, dear,” Fleur said. “Bill can bring up your bags. Go and make yourself comfortable. I will bring up some sandwiches for you in case you are ‘ungry.”

Harry looked between the two of them. “Thanks, guys, I really appreciate this.”

* * *

Snape paced before Minerva’s desk, his fists clenched. “What happened?” he demanded.

“Sit down, Severus,” Minerva said. She looked tired and over-burdened.

Realizing she wouldn’t speak until he did, Snape slumped into a chair. “What prompted Potter to quit?”

“I don’t know,” Minerva said, looking lost. “He came in here first thing this morning and said he had something to tell me. Then he resigned.”

“What did he say?” Biting back his frustration, Snape clarified, “What words did he use?”

Minerva frowned. “He said he needed to tender his resignation because he had some thinking to do and he couldn’t do it here at the school. Of course I offered to give him as much time off as he needed, that he needn’t resign if he merely needed a break, but he just shook his head and said he had to leave.”

Snape clenched his fists in frustration. This made no sense. Even if Harry was angry at him, he could have come to him. Why was he running away? And if Snape had misjudged last night, why hadn’t Harry just used his safe word? What was he was missing?

Refocusing his thoughts, he asked, “How did Potter look? Did he seem… unhappy?”

Minerva considered this. “You know, Severus, now that you mention it…” Minerva touched the broach at her collar and tilted her head, as if searching her memory for something. “I was so stunned when he quit. I mean, he’s always loved Hogwarts and being here and teaching, and he always seemed so happy…”

Snape bit his tongue to keep himself from snapping at the woman to get on with it already.

She turned her gaze back to him. “You know how Harry is, always go-lucky and happy and so optimistic…”

Snape nodded.

“Well, this morning was different. He was a shadow of himself. He was subdued and quiet. And his eyes, they looked…”

“Betrayed,” Snape breathed. It was the only reasonable explanation.

“What was that?” Minerva asked. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Nothing,” Snape muttered, despair settling over him in waves. “What were you going to say?”

“Dead,” Minerva said solemnly. “His eyes, they looked… dead.”

* * *

Harry slept and ate and slept some more. When he wasn’t sleeping, he was walking along the shore collecting seashells for Fleur or working in the garden for Bill. It felt good to be outside, to breathe, to think, or not think as the case may be. More often than not, he let his mind wander. Wander to what his life had become, to who _he_ had become. Bill and Fleur were gracious hosts and didn’t question him much, not yet, but he sensed their patience was running thin. They wanted to know why he was there, what he had run from or was recovering from, or perhaps hiding from. They hadn’t asked him yet, not in so many words, but he knew it was only a matter of time.

* * *

Snape sat on his couch, the Pensieve before him. He knew he had to look, but he was terrified. And angry. Terrified he’d screwed up and angry at Harry for letting him, for leaving him. When he’d returned to his quarters, after finding Harry’s empty and confronting the headmistress, he had checked the bowl on the mantle where he kept his tokens when they weren’t wearing them—a frequent habit of his.

How many times had he lingered over the small gifts Harry had given him? How many times had he fingered each piece, relishing the memories that came along with them? How often had he stroked the warm metal of the matching gold bands they’d given each other for their first anniversary—along with an amazing night of rimming? Then there was the cloak pin Harry had given him for his birthday—along with a staggering blow job. There were the cufflinks too—beautiful silver bars decorated with emeralds. That was the first time they’d tried Dom/Sub, he’d remembered fondly. Harry had a similar bowl on his mantel where he kept the tokens that Severus had given him.

But his thoughts were interrupted when he found not only his own tokens there, but the ones he’d given Harry as well—the matching gold band, of course, symbolizing their love and commitment to one another; the set of charmed metal snakes that would slither up Harry’s body and clamp lightly on his young lover’s nipples at his command; the gold rope necklace that transfigured into a collar when Harry acted his pet; the silk scarf that they’d found so many enjoyable uses for.

Snape had let out a strangled sound at the unwelcome discovery and had collapsed onto his couch, where he found himself now. Desperate and despairing, filled with foreboding and dread. He’d missed something, of that he was now sure.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to touch the liquid surface of his memories, hoping to discover what he had done to drive his precious young lover away, and fearing what he’d find.

_Harry hadn’t wanted this, Severus knew, but Harry had promised he’d try—for Severus’s sake. Severus thought Harry was just being uptight, that he’d enjoy it once he tried it. And the sight of Draco stroking Severus’s pet, pleasuring him, had driven Snape insane with lust and desire—at the time._

_But now, in light of Harry’s abrupt departure and clear abandonment of their relationship, Snape turned his attention to Harry, his Harry. Harry, who was rigid, his lips a thin line, blind eyes squeezed shut. Harry, whose limbs were trembling against Draco’s foreign touch. Harry, who was digging the nails of his bound hands into his tender skin, leaving marks._

_Snape watched as Draco attempted to stroke Harry to hardness, but Harry remained flaccid. The more he resisted, the rougher Draco got. Harry hadn’t hardened until Severus had commanded it. And then Severus, in his lust-addled state, slid the cock ring on, wanting to hold Harry’s pleasure at bay, wanting to make it last._

_In the new light of dawning awareness, however, Severus watched Harry’s face go from mildly nervous and displeased to scared and trapped. And the look of pain and betrayal that crossed his pet’s face when Draco roughly fingered him was nothing,_ nothing, _compared to the look of excruciating agony and utter betrayal when Draco sliced him open with his thick cock._

_Watching from this distance, Severus let out an anguished sob and bit his tongue until he tasted blood. Harry, his Harry, his beloved pet, hadn’t been prepared for Draco, hadn’t been ready. Yet, Draco continued to thrust, causing Harry to suffer, making him bleed. How had Severus missed this? Yet, he knew. He’d been too caught up in his own fantasy, in the beautiful picture Draco made fucking Severus’s beloved pet at Severus’s command, to pay Harry’s distress any mind. He hadn’t protected Harry as he’d promised, hadn’t saved him from this as he should have._

_It sickened Severus now to hear his own shallow, murmured words, his glib attempts to comfort Harry, as if he himself wasn’t the cause of his lover’s destruction. This tragedy had nothing to do with Harry, and everything to do with his own selfish desires. Too caught up in his own pleasure to notice his lover’s tormented suffering, Severus listened to himself telling Harry that he’d never take Harry farther than he knew Harry could go. But watching now, sick with regret, he knew that he already had. He’d already betrayed his lover, his love, his pet, his Harry._

_Severus wanted to shield his eyes from the scene that continued to unspool before him. Harry was crying, sobbing, screaming. SCREAMING, for Merlin’s sake. It wasn’t an act. It was real and heart-rending. And it was absolutely unconscionable that he, Severus, could have mistaken it at the time. Could have thought for one second that Harry was screaming in pleasure instead of pain. The only one getting pleasure from the heinous act was himself. His sick, selfish, despicable bastard of a self._

_Severus rung his hands. How could he have missed Harry’s desperate pleas for mercy? His howls of agonized pain? The blood spilling out around them all? How could he have been so blind to Harry’s suffering? To Harry’s attempts at begging his Master to release him from this prison of misery? Harry had promised he’d try, but Severus had promised that he’d never let things go too far—never hurt Harry—yet he had._

_Severus held his breath when he saw Harry submit completely. Somehow, it was even worse watching his pet go limp, letting Severus and Draco have their way with him. Because Severus knew that that was the instant he’d lost Harry; that was the moment Harry had given up. Harry had realized that all of his tortured, terror-filled screams and cries for help had gone unanswered. That his Master had truly and utterly abandoned him. His Master hadn’t kept him safe—and never would. That his Master had not only violated his trust, but his body and soul as well—and let Draco do the same, under his Master’s watch, for his Master’s sick, selfish pleasure._

_Severus bit back the tears at his complete and utter failure. It wasn’t until the very end—after Harry, his Harry, and everything they’d had together had been ruined—that Harry had uttered those words:_ Dead Phoenix _. The fact that Harry had uttered them at all, after what had happened, told Severus more than anything else that Severus had killed Harry that night—killed their love, their trust, their relationship. All because Severus had been too caught up in his own fantasies to notice his young lover’s plight._

 _He knew why Harry hadn’t tapped out earlier, hadn’t said his safe word. Harry had trusted Snape completely, trusted Snape to not let things go too far, trusted Snape to hear his screams, trusted Snape to end the torture before it was too late. And now—now it_ was _too late. Severus had failed his lover at the most fundamental level._

_Harry hadn’t been walking away in a pout. He’d been walking away to save himself. And Severus, the wretched bastard that he was, knew that he deserved all the misery and despair that was descending upon him._

When the memory ended, Snape put his head in his hands. He had done this. Harry should have safe-worded out, but he was the master and Harry was the slave. It had been _his_ responsibility to keep Harry safe. Harry should never have had to use the safe word. As crushed as Snape felt in this moment, he could only imagine what Harry had gone through—was going through even now. That Harry had gone to Madam Pomfrey to be healed spoke volumes. What had he told the mediwitch anyway? It didn’t matter now. Severus had wrecked the best thing in his life.

* * *

Harry was sitting in the sand staring out over the ocean when Bill sat down beside him. Harry stiffened, guessing what was coming.

“How are you holding up?” Bill asked.

Harry shrugged.

“You’ve been here almost two months now,” Bill ventured, “and we still don’t know what brought you here.”

Harry stared out over the ocean, remaining silent.

“Listen, Harry, you don’t have to tell me. But, obviously, you’re not all right. If you were, I wouldn’t ask.”

Sighing, Harry hung his head. “It’s not what you think,” he said. “I wasn’t… raped.” Harry felt the tears spring to his eyes and forced them back. “I could have safe-worded out.”

“But you didn’t,” Bill said, his tone soft and non-judgmental.

Harry shook his head.

“Why not?” Bill asked gently.

Harry swallowed. “I trusted him. Completely. He’d never hurt me before, never let me be hurt before. He promised he wouldn’t let it go too far.” In a hollow voice, Harry added. “And I believed him.”

“Did you love him?” Bill asked.

“Yes, very much. And he loved me too. Or, at least, I thought he did.”

“How long were you together?”

“A year and a half,” Harry said miserably.

“And nothing like this had ever happened before?” Bill asked.

“No, never. He was always very protective of me. He would never…” Harry paused, forcing himself to slow his breathing. “I would have said that he would never let this happen. Never.”

They sat quietly for several moments. Harry lost his battle against the tears and buried his head in his knees as they cascaded silently down his cheeks. He felt Bill’s arm go around his shoulders and squeeze, and he took shelter in the comfort and solidarity his friend offered.

* * *

Snape sat at his desk, ringing his hands, a pile of returned scrolls stacked in a box on his desk—all addressed to Harry Potter—all returned unopened. He’d searched high and low for the young man but Harry was not to be found. He wasn’t residing at Grimmauld place or that awful abandoned Muggle house he grew up in. He wasn’t at the Burrow or at the small cottage Weasley and Granger called home. He’d even checked the Longbottom house and the Lovegood tower. He’d asked around at the Ministry. He’d spoken with the Hogwarts staff. If anyone knew, they weren’t talking.

Draco had come around from time to time, offering false words of comfort, offering to take Harry’s place. That only enraged Severus further, until he’d finally told Draco that if Draco ever graced his hearth again, he’d curse the man’s balls off. It wasn’t Draco’s fault; not really. There was only one person to blame, and that was himself. It had been his idea, his negligence. And now, it was both of their suffering—his and Harry’s. And he could do nothing to rectify the situation when he couldn’t even find the young man.

* * *

Summer had slid into autumn, and a cool wind had settled over Shell Cottage. Leaves decorated the rocky lawn and waves crashed tumultuously along the shore. It was a mood that Harry shared, stirred up and unsettled.

Fleur had gone to town when Bill sat beside him at the breakfast table with two cups of tea. “Do you still love him?” Bill asked without warning.

Harry hung his head. That was a question he asked himself often. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “How can I love someone who could betray me like that?”

Ignoring Harry’s question, Bill asked, “Do you think he loves you?”

“I thought he did.”

“There’s only one way to know for sure,” Bill said.

Knowing he wouldn’t like the answer, Harry said, “What’s that?”

“Go and talk to him.”

Harry grunted.

“Harry.”

When Bill didn’t continue, Harry finally met the man’s gaze. It was warm and understanding.

“If he’s half the man you think he is, he’s suffering too. I wasn’t there, obviously, but maybe he made a mistake. Maybe he realizes it. Maybe he’s been trying to find you all this time.”

“Maybe,” Harry said.

“And you’ll never know unless you talk to him.”

“Or maybe I meant nothing to him. Maybe it was all a game,” Harry said.

“Maybe it was,” Bill agreed. “But until you see him again, it’s pretty clear that you won’t be able to let this go.”

“I don’t know,” Harry hedged, not wanting to commit.

Bill got to his feet and put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “If nothing else, you need closure, Harry.”

Harry hung his head, knowing that Bill was right, but still not wanting to leave the sanctuary he’d found here.

* * *

It was nearing 11 pm when there was a knock at Snape’s door. It was well past curfew and he had zero desire for visitors. He debated ignoring the summons altogether, but the determined cretin knocked again. Throwing aside the potions journal he was reading, he got to his feet and stomped to the door. Throwing it open with a sneer, he froze at the sight before him.

“Harry,” he breathed.

“Professor,” Harry returned.

Severus stood frozen in his astonishment. It had been six months since he had driven the young man from his life with his callousness. Harry looked amazingly well—tan and muscled, if a bit nervous.

In contrast to observing Harry’s good looks, the younger man said, “You’ve lost weight.”

Severus frowned. He had lost weight. His colleagues worried he was ill, Madam Pomfrey called him a skeleton and demanded he take nutrient potions. But eating was the least of Severus’s concerns.

“May I come in?” Harry asked.

The words shook Severus from his stupor. “Yes, yes, of course. Please excuse my poor manners. I am surprised to find you on my doorstep.”

“So am I,” Harry muttered.

“Have a seat,” Severus said solicitously. He took down his best bottle of wine and two glasses. His hands shaking, he poured them each a glass and offered one to Harry before sitting in the chair adjacent to where Harry was seated. “What brings you to Hogwarts?”

“You,” Harry said simply, rolling the stem of the glass of wine between his fingers, but not drinking. “We didn’t end well. I guess I just needed some closure.”

“Closure?” Snape asked, feeling the wine in his stomach rebel.

“Yes, I…” Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I haven’t been able to get over what… happened… between us.”

Severus set his glass of wine down and leaned forward. Pain and tension swirled in the air around them. There were so many things he wanted to say, needed to say. And yet the first thing that popped out of his mouth was likely the worst.

“Why, Harry?” Snape asked, his eyes pleading as well as his voice. “Why didn’t you use the safe word?”

“I did,” Harry protested.

“No, you didn’t. Not before…” Snape’s voice broke. He cleared his throat several times before he could continue. _Not before it was too late_ , he wanted to say. Instead, he said, “Not until it was over.”

“I trusted you!” Harry shouted, now fighting back his own tears. “I trusted you,” he said, more quietly this time. “I promised I’d try it—for you. I didn’t want to. You knew that. But you promised to protect me. You promised not to hurt me, not to let me get hurt. You promised not to let it go too far.” A sob rent the air as Harry buried his head in his hands, shaking. “And I… I believed you.”

Guilt and regret burned in Severus’s gut. He longed to take Harry in his arms, soothe away the pain, apologize for his mistakes. Tentatively, he reached over and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry jerked away.

“This was a bad idea. I should go,” Harry said, getting to his feet, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Harry…” Snape said, getting to his feet as well. “Pet…”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” Harry snapped, his eyes flashing, his chest heaving. “You have no right to call me that, not anymore. Not after… what you did to me.”

Severus sucked in his breath, struck by the impact of Harry’s words. Even knowing he fully deserved them didn’t make them sting any less. Hurting, he said, “Why didn’t you safe-word out? Before it broke you? Broke us?”

“Why didn’t you protect me like you said you always would?” Harry retorted.

When Severus didn’t respond, Harry nodded once, as if he had his answer. “Goodbye, Snape,” he said, turning to leave.

“Wait,” Severus called. “Harry, wait. Please.”

Harry paused, his hand on the door, but didn’t turn around.

To Harry’s back, Severus said, “I screwed up, Harry. I failed. I failed you, I failed us.” He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. “I didn’t do my job. I was so caught up in my fantasy, in what I wanted to happen, what I imagined _was_ happening, that I didn’t see what was really going on right before my eyes.” He looked pleadingly at Harry, who had turned around, his arms now crossed protectively over his chest. “I was too drunk on lust and whatever else was going through my messed-up head to recognize how truly distraught you were. It wasn’t until… until…”

“Until I left that night?” Harry prompted.

“No,” Snape admitted. “Not even then.” Snape spun away, angry and ashamed. “Not until I pulled out the memories and watched them in my Pensieve. Only then did I truly understand the magnitude of how I failed you. How I hurt you.”

Harry looked shocked. “You didn’t even realize?”

Snape shook his head.

“I can’t even…” Harry began.

“I was a fool, Harry," Snape hissed, yanking at shirt collar in distress. “A complete and utter fool.” He stalked to the box of scrolls, sweeping them off the desk with one arm and watching them scatter across the floor. “I tried to find you,” he said, his eyes wild. “I looked everywhere. I wrote you letters upon letters,” he said, indicating the many scrolls littering the floor. Snape paused to heave in a breath filled with self-loathing. “It may have taken me too long to realize what I’d done, but once I did…”

Harry took a step forward and bent to pick up a scroll.

“I have never felt such regret in my life,” Snape said. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’d bollixed it all up. I hurt you, badly. All because I was selfish and self-absorbed and caught up in my own games. I’d hurt the one person, the only person, I’ve ever truly loved.”

Stepping forward, but not too close, Severus said, “I love you, Harry. I am truly sorry. Even if you can never forgive me, I am sorry. I never meant to hurt you. If you believe nothing else, please believe that.” Wringing his hands, he repeated imploringly, “I never meant to hurt you.”

Harry looked like he was going to take a step forward, too, but then stopped himself and turned away. He unfurled the scroll and read the spiky handwriting. Snape held his breath.

After several moments of silence, Severus spoke. “Can you forgive me, Harry? Do you think we could ever go back to the way things were?” He tried to keep the desperation from his voice, but he doubted he succeeded.

When Harry turned, there was pity in his eyes. “I can try and forgive you,” he said. “But no, Severus, I will never again call you Master.”

Severus dropped his head in defeat, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. Silently, he nodded.

When he finally looked up, he was surprised to see Harry still standing there.

“Would you mind if I took the letters with me?” Harry asked.

Snape gestured toward the floor. “Take them. I wrote them all for you.”

Wordlessly, Harry began gathering the scattered scrolls while Severus helped him. Once Harry had the bundle in his arms, they stood there, an awkward silence growing between them.

“I can’t make you any promises, Severus. But I will think about it. About us. I don’t know if we can salvage a relationship. I don’t know if I can ever trust you again. Not like I once did,” Harry paused, seemingly to decide if he should say more. Finally, he said, “I still love you. But I don’t know if it’s enough to balance out the pain.” Turning to go, Harry said, “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I can ask,” Severus said.

“I won’t ever be your slave again, though, nor your pet.”

Severus nodded; that was fair. Swallowing his pride, he said, against his nature and all his instincts, “I could try and be your pet.”

“No,” Harry said. “I don’t want that. That’s not who you are. I was thinking something more equal, more typical. Maybe,” Harry said.

“All right,” Snape replied, still holding his breath.

“No promises,” Harry said.

“I understand,” Severus replied.

Harry nodded, and then he was gone. Snape sat back in his chair, head in his hands, and let the tears fall.


End file.
